


our hearts will beat as one

by harrysl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, And in love, Flashbacks, Fluff, Harry's Birthday, Longing, M/M, Nostalgia, One Shot, Short One Shot, and cute, just generally being dorks, larry stylinson - Freeform, pain and sadness, polaroids, waltzing in a nightclub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 05:48:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5856535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrysl/pseuds/harrysl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which harry lives in the past, and louis can't bring himself to forget</p>
            </blockquote>





	our hearts will beat as one

**Author's Note:**

> this is kind of shit but i hope you enjoy anyway!!
> 
> creds to isabel who helped me come up with this au. i lowkey butchered it though

The world was whirling by in a flurry of darkness and flashing lights. Louis had long lost track of the time. In fact, he’d pretty much lost track of everything apart from the loud music thumping in his ears, the alcohol buzzing through his veins, and the beautiful, beautiful boy in front of him.

They should probably be a little more careful about how they’re acting together. After five years, Louis was more than a little familiar with how quickly rumors could spread – especially the ones that were true, but in that moment he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Plus, they were in the shittiest fucking nightclub Louis had ever set foot in. It was hardly a place where you’d expect to find vodka that was even half decent, let alone two members of a world-famous boyband. Louis wouldn’t even have been _standing_ in the godforsaken place if Harry hadn’t pouted and whined all evening (and, later, half-dragged him all the way to the nightclub).

But he’s not complaining so much now. Harry’s breath was warm as he leaned down to mouth at Louis’ collarbones, strands of curly hair falling down and tickling his skin. His touch ghosted everywhere; on his back, around his neck, fingers slotting into the ridges of his ribs. His hand slipped beneath the hem of Louis’ tshirt and he held on to his waist, fingers pressing into the sweaty skin like he can't get enough.

It’s not a sexual thing. They just love each other a lot.

“Let’s get some more drinks, yeah?” he breathed against the shell of Louis’ ear, sending goosebumps down his neck. “I’m pretty sure I spilt all of mine on your shirt. Sorry, lou,” he said, giggling faintly, and he was right. The cocktail he was holding had been sloshing onto Louis’ new white shirt for Christ knows how long. He just didn’t really feel like telling him over the loud music. 

And besides, Harry could drench him in a whole bottle of the stuff if it was what he wanted. Louis wouldn’t mind as long as he got to see his smile and hear him giggling as he did it.

“C’mon then,” he said before giving him a quick peck on the lips and grabbing his hand to lead him off the dance floor. He knew Harry had probably already had three more drinks than he promised he would that night, but so what? None of it mattered much to Louis as long as his baby was happy. It was his day, after all. 

“Get me the wildest drink you can come up with,” Harry yelled at the bartender over the booming bass. Then he turned to Louis and took both of his hands in his, cocking his eyebrows and smirking in a mischievous kind of way. 

“Harry, what-” Louis began, but then Harry was spinning him around like a ballerina, tipping him backwards in one smooth motion like they’re fucking _romeo and juliet_ , catching Louis so off guard he yelped and nearly tumbled over. He was just about to blurt out a string of obscenities but Harry was laughing and beaming at him then, eyes twinkling and teeth flashing, looking so disheveled yet somehow so _ethereal_ at the same time that the words died in his throat. 

Harry leaned down and pecked him on the cheek – once, gently – before pulling him upright again.

And then they were waltzing, fucking _waltzing_ at the edge of the dance floor next to people who were grinding on each other like there was no tomorrow. Harry led him, stepping gracefully as Louis stumbled around, laughing as tried to keep up, his happiness radiating off of him in waves and lighting up the whole room. It was stupid, so fucking stupid, and Harry was stupid with his stupid smile and his stupid ideas, but soon Louis had also forgotten that they were in a _nightclub_ , not a ballroom, and the music streaming from the speakers was fetty wap and not beethoven’s waltz in e flat major. They waltzed until Louis forgot that he couldn’t even _dance_ , for god’s sake, but everything was alright because they had each other and it was all that mattered. 

They were unconquerable. Undefeated. Infinite.

Anyone who had seen them would have thought that they were on a date. Perhaps their third or fourth one, when butterflies still fluttered in their tummies and a simple peck on the lips was enough to giggle over. But in truth, Louis had known Harry for as long as he remembered. He just never got quite used to him; his soft skin and pretty eyes, the sound of his laugh, the way he looked at Louis as though he were the only star in the sky.

Whether they danced for a few minutes or for an eternity, Louis didn’t know. His mind was starting to get foggy, after all, but eventually Harry broke apart from him and took Louis’ face in his hands. His bright green eyes darted to his lips, his eyes, tracing the line of his jaw, taking him in hungrily like they’ll never be able to look at each other again. He didn’t even _kiss_ him, for god’s sake, but Louis felt giddy from the inside out and he was practically melting into a puddle at Harry fingertips. It was embarrassing, really, but in that moment he was too far gone to even feel ashamed at himself. Or maybe he was just too busy staring into Harry’s eyes and counting the gold flecks in the irises to think of anything other than _harryharryharry_.

They could have stayed like that for hours. Looking through each other like they had glass skin, the world outside moving at a completely different rhythm than the beating of their hearts. But the moment was broken suddenly when Harry’s head snapped up and he looked around excitedly.

“This is it, Louis!” he yelled over the music, grasping him by the shoulders and laughing in an exhilarated kind of way. “This is our song! I can’t believe they’re actually playing it!” he said, and now that he pointed it out, Louis couldn’t believe he was distracted enough not to recognize it after the first few chords. 

There isn’t a story behind it, not really. One day Harry just came home and started rambling about a song he heard at the coffee shop that Louis just absolutely _had_ to listen to. He even downloaded it and played it on max volume from their ridiculously expensive speakers at home, and for a while Louis pretended to hate it because it was ‘hipster shit’. He _tried_ , he really did, but something about the song just caught on to him, and after a few weeks he just gave up on hiding it. It was a pretty ordinary song, really, but something about it just sent chills down his spine every single time. Pretty soon it just became their thing, and has been ever since.

And Louis couldn’t help but throw back his head laugh with him, because maybe choosing this shitty nightclub wasn’t such a bad idea after all. 

One moment Harry was still clutching onto him, and in the next he was bounding onto the dance floor again. Louis dove into the crowds of people after him, drinks forgotten as he struggled to keep Harry in sight. But every time he was close to reaching him, Harry would just turn around and wave him forward eagerly before disappearing once more into the crowd.

“Fuck, come _on_ ,” he hissed under his breath when it happened again. The room was way too stuffy and it was getting hard to breathe. He scrunched up his nose and squinted in the dim flashing lights, looking for curls or a white shirt or an arm covered in tattoos. 

“Harry, I love you and all but I _swear_ to _god_ ,” he mumbled to himself, “I’ll buy you a leash the next time I pass a pet store.” Wouldn’t want to waste the money for nothing, though, he thought as he shoved past two girls making out verociously. Maybe he’ll get a golden retriever for Harry on their anniversary. Or an australian shepherd. He’d like that. Or he could just reserve the leash for when Harry’s being _bad_ -

He was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts when he stumbled into a cleared space on the dance floor. Looking around, it was obvious why everywhere else was packed except for where he was standing. Harry was dancing, jumping around and flailing his arms so much Louis had to dodge to avoid getting hit in the face by a passing elbow. His voice cracked as he sang along to the music. 

Louis watched as Harry tripped over his own feet dangerously, caught himself, and giggled before resuming his prancing. He looked quite like a baby lion, with his hair tumbling down in a mess at his shoulders. And Louis, he- he was so fucking _in love_ with Harry it _hurt_. He’s seen Harry’s face every single day for years, though on some days only through a screen, but it still astonished Louis how truly _beautiful_ he was, as cliché as it sounds. Despite the fact that he was unsteady on his feet and his words were slurred, he still had such a lovely undertone for just being _Harry_. 

God. Louis felt like he might burst into flames. 

He pulled out the vintage polaroid camera he carried with him everywhere he went, held it up, and snapped a picture just as Harry turned to face him. The flash was enough to distract Harry for a second, and the smile slid off his face in an instant.

“ _Heyyy_ ,” he whined, dropping his arms at his sides. “Why don’t you ever take pictures of me when I’m sober and actually looking decent? I don’t want any candids of me right now. I look like a drunkard,” he said, which just made Louis laugh. 

“You look beautiful babe, you always do, even when you don’t think so,” he said as he stepped forwards and pulled a pouty Harry into his arms. “You were so cute just now I couldn’t help myself.” 

He watched in amusement as Harry scrunched up his nose and pressed his lips together the way he always did when he was suppressing a smile. But soon he gave up, and leaned against Louis’ shoulder to giggle freely.

“You’re too much, Louis, _honestly_ ,” he said, voice muffled. 

“You know you still love me,” Louis cooed, nuzzling into Harry’s hair before breaking away from the hug. He pulled out a sharpie from his back pocket and scribbled something at the bottom of the still-faded polaroid picture, the cap between his teeth.

“I do,” mumbled Harry, humming as he reached out for Louis once more. He clung onto his side and laid his chin on his shoulder sleepily as Louis stared at the picture in the dim light, watching as it became clearer and clearer.

“I still don’t get why you always insist on taking pictures at random moments, though. I mean, I look cute six out of seven days a week, and you always choose that one day where I look like a bloody mess,” said Harry into his neck, his eyes drooping closed.

“Harry, please. You look cute, like, nineteen out of seven days a week. And of course I take pictures of you when you’re sober, you just never notice.” At this, Harry raised his head, all signs of drowsiness gone, and looked at Louis with an alarmed expression that made Louis burst into laughter. 

“But you caught me today, of course. It’s just- there’s nothing memorable about you posing in front of a wall, you know? It’s the moments that seem ordinary that I want to capture, so that we’ll be able to look back on what our normal was when we’re older. Besides, I think you’re most gorgeous of all when you’re being natural,” he said, cocking his head to the side to look at Harry. “Not that you’re ever _not_ gorgeous, I’m just saying.”

Harry was back at lazily nibbling on Louis’ neck and merely hummed happily in response. The music was still playing loudly, the beat shaking the floor beneath their feet and sending vibrations into their bones, but in that moment they were somewhere else completely. The world around them was nothing but a blur of colour and sound. It was like they were in their own universe, in a different dimension, where nothing existed but themselves and each other. Louisandharry, harryandlouis; two stars lucky enough to collide into each other, spinning and swirling into their own lustrous galaxy. One.

“Happy birthday, babe,” said Louis softly, and despite all of the commotion, the words must have made its way to Harry crystal clear, because he started giggling against Louis’ neck for the millionth time that night, and just – _fuck_ – Louis was _so_ in _love_.

He gazed at the polaroid in his hand, at his scrawny handwriting at the bottom. Harry’s breath tickled as he laid on his shoulder droopily, and when Louis turned his head to look at him again, he was gazing at the polaroid as though he hadn’t been complaining about it just a few minutes before. A smile was tugging at his lips.

Looking back, Louis doesn’t know why it’s this specific memory that’s clung to him for so many years, why Harry’s drunken giggles and his touch is still as vivid to him as though it were yesterday. After all, so many of his other memories had long faded into nothing but a haze. 

It’s been so long. So, so long. Winter had passed and came and passed again more times than Louis could ever count, yet when he brushes a finger over the polaroid it still comes back to him as clear as ever. It’s not really his choice that he remembers it all so well, because for as long as he remembers, he continues to feel the pain in each passing day. Yet he couldn’t help but be glad that he still carries it all with him like a piece of Harry himself, even if they come with grief that’s five times as heavy.

He’s stuck in a whirlwind of letting go and pulling back. Letting go and pulling back. 

The polaroid isn’t even in good condition compared to the rest of the photos Louis had managed to spare, all stored in a battered box under Louis’ bed, yet he doesn’t think he’ll ever feel the same way about any other picture. It’s faded and wrinkled, with most of its top corners singed away, but Harry’s bright smile and clear eyes are still as radiant as they were in real life. His face is miraculously untouched by the fire, which Louis has always found sardonic. A _picture_ of him had somehow made it through everything, and yet Harry himself, who had lived and breathed and loved with all his heart, was simply _gone_.

He traces a finger over the words at the bottom, carelessly scrawled by himself so many years ago. 

_“February 2016. First birthday as husbands.”_

And underneath that, in a smaller, more careful handwriting,

_“Maybe we’re fireproof.”_

It was ironic, so fucking ironic. Harry had stumbled back to their hotel that night and begged Louis to hand him the polaroid he had taken earlier. Louis was afraid that he would throw it away or crumple it up, but instead he just took a pen from his bag and sat down at the desk. Louis had watched from over his shoulder as he wrote the lyrics, tongue poking out of his mouth in an effort to keep the letters as neat as possible despite his drunken state. 

It was their favorite line they had ever written back then. He still remembers being pressed against Harry’s side under the blanket, a notebook on his lap as bit by bit the song came into shape. It was unlike anything else they’ve ever recorded before and they were proud of it. But ever since the incident, Louis hated it more than anything he knew. 

Because no. They’re not fucking fireproof.

It was one of Harry’s favorites too, he thinks, so it’s a good thing he wasn’t there to see Louis when he skipped his solo onstage for three shows in a row and refused to sing even a single word from the song. It was taken off the setlist soon afterwards, and the boys had all learned to pretend the song doesn't exist.

Louis sighs as he reads the the text over and over again in his head. A long time ago he would have cried, but now all he feels is numb and devoid of emotion, like he doesn’t even have enough tears left to spill. It’s probably better this way, really. Harry had always hated seeing cry, after all.

He plants a kiss on the bright-eyed boy’s cold paper cheek, whispers a goodnight, and brushes a finger across Harry’s face one last time before carefully tucking the picture into his pillowcase. It’s not the best place to keep an old and battered polaroid, but it’s the only place Louis feels as though is safe enough. He’s already lost Harry; it was all he could do to protect the fragments of him he still had from getting lost as well.

And besides – though Louis would never admit it – it makes him feel closer to Harry than he’s been in years. On some nights, Harry’s presence with him just felt so _authentic_ and hung so heavily in the air that it could have been tangible. On these nights, Louis would roll over eagerly, half expecting to see the boy lying sound asleep next to him again, looking soft and at ease and _young_ , the only way Louis has ever known him. His face untouched by wrinkles, his eyelashes fluttering as he dreamt. 

But every single time he saw nothing but the cold white sheets lying crumpled on the bed, on the side Harry always used to sleep on. 

It’s hard to live with it, thinks Louis as he flicks off the lamp on his bedside table. Harry’s not dead for as long as he lives on in his memory; Louis has had his mind made up on that for ages. It’s just – well, he’s definitely not _alive_ , either, and that’s what hurts the most. That empty state between his presence and absence, vagueness and clarity.

But what’s gone is gone, so why bother holding on to it? he asks himself as he turns over. 

No one’s there to remind him that he’s already got the answer to that question.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading & pls leave some feedback or criticism!! and kudos. don't forget the kudos.


End file.
